Lionsgaze
by HerbalTeaLeaves
Summary: The poverty-struck land of Westfall is harsh, and Jack Miller has no doubt about that. All he wants out of it is to survive - to come out on top, in a kill or be killed world. However, when a stroke of bad luck puts him in the middle of danger beyond the adolescent gladiator's comprehension, will Jack be able to keep his head on straight - and more importantly, attached?


Chapter 1: _Lionsgaze_

The intense downpour continued to crash upon the shoddy old roof, which was in dire need of maintenance; Jack had made note of this fact, after being rudely awoken many times by the odd drop of water that had somehow managed to meander through the labyrinth woodwork. No such thing had occured tonight, however, as he had gotten no sleep _to_ be awoken from. This fact was greatly frustrating to the adolescent, as the ringleader would surely have his head if he was to discover that the champion - _his _champion - was skipping out on his "brawly sleep".

Exasperated, he continued to worm around in his ragged bedroll, unable to clear his mind of thoughts: like how he was to defeat tomorrow's opponent, as the ring had promised him the next would be no pushover, or when he would next get to see Annabelle, whom had wandered off for the night, claiming she needed to get some studying in - though he theorized that she merely needed time away so that she wouldn't grow sick of his company. These sorts of thoughts were what he would consider to be mad ramblings, and he was certain they helped to perpetuate his insomnia.

The agonisingly dull seconds quickly became minutes, proceeding to morph into hours; the passing of time only weakening his will as the sleep deprivation began to take its toll on Jack's mind. Every little noise started to send him into a frenzy, and he was -certain- that the coyotes were howling with a certain howl that simply happened to closely resemble a Westfall breeze.

His paranoia continued to taunt him for a good period of time; before a distinct sound shattered the exhausting jitters. To his ears, it was a heavy thud; one that seemed to originate from the roof, as if one of the local vultures had been shot out of the sky. This sent him into alert-mode, as all startling sounds did, and before he knew it, the fourteen-year-old had slipped on his rough leather gear and cautiously gripped a combat knife; wading through the long grass around the cottage, in the dead of early morning. Jack tried frantically to catch a glimpse of what could have collided with his roof, but saw nothing, until-

Frigid steel pressed against the exposed flesh of his neck, causing the boy to tense. He dared not peer upward to catch sight of the figure that was holding him, for his common sense could percieve it was some sort of bandit; one who might sell his equipment for a pretty penny. He simply shut his eyes, awaiting the consequence of his fatal mistake, before a voice spoke out.

"Calm yourself, boy. I come not with malicious intent."

A few seconds were needed for him to process the noble-speak, but he felt an urgency in his understanding; the articulate and commanding tone of the man's voice being crisp, even with the ambient pitter-patter.

"O-oi. If you 'aint here to cut my throat, then.. drop the knife. Maybe I'll.. d-do the same."

Such stuttering was vastly out of character for the young Gladiator, and he liked it not one bit. Much to his surprise, however, the weapon was promptly dropped, distinguishable by the sound of metal against dead grass. A sort of "Pshf".

Jack did not dally for even a moment, immediately pivoting on his heel to get a good look at the figure.

The man before him appeared surprisingly young, despite his bassy tone. His features were hard to make out with the veil of nightfall, but he could just about spot some well-kept blonde hair atop a gentlemen of a frame that could only be described as swoon-worthy; these features being enough for Jack to feel comfortable in recognising the man, should they meet a second time.

Jack caught an azure eye looking him over, tensing slightly, awaiting a sudden assault.

"You.. are the son of Aiden, correct?"

"That asshole? Pfft.. sad but true."

He could've sworn he saw the man smirk.

"There have been whispers of a young man who carries the blood of Lionsgaze, taking Westfall by storm.. undefeated at.. what.. fifty kills? Forgive me, I'm not exactly president of the damned fan club."

As strange as it felt, Jack almost felt his cheeks flush at the praise. He responded dryly, hoping to lighten the mood.

"fifty-six.. for the record."


End file.
